


Two In The Morning

by TwiceALady



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, hansanna - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 06:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16236437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwiceALady/pseuds/TwiceALady
Summary: Kingdoms apart, Hans and Anna wake up from dreaming of each other…again. Hansanna masturbation oneshot. NSFW.





	Two In The Morning

The moon was shining high through his window when he jolted awake, his body slick with sweat, his heart racing. He sat up, rubbing his hands over his face before his fingers raked through his damp, auburn locks.

Her again.

Even in sleep she plagued his thoughts.

_Anna_.

How long would she continue to haunt him?

He fumbled for the matches on his bedside table, his hand shaking as he struck a match. The soft hiss of warm light flickered against the cool moonlight. Sheltering the flame, he reached over, carefully taking the glass off his lamp and lighting the oil-soaked wick. Shadows played across the room as the lamp light spilled forth, and he collapsed back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He gave a snort of displeasure before reaching his hand out, grabbing his pocket watch from the bedside, and flicking it open softly.

Two in the morning.

He clicked the watch closed, and placed it back on the bedside table with a sigh.

He wondered if the moon was as bright tonight in Arendelle, and if she was awake too. Was she staring up at her ceiling? Had she awoken, heart pounding, drenched in sweat from a dream about him?

When he was a small boy, his mother once told him that if he saw someone he knew in his dreams, it meant that person was dreaming of him too. At the exact same time. She had never said if it was the same dream though.

A bitter smile quirked his lips as he recalled fragments of the dream.

_His tongue tracing a freckle trail along her shoulder…_

_Her small hand reaching up to undo her hair; strawberry blonde tresses spilling down her almost bare back…_

_His hand sliding ever so slowly up her skirt, grazing her thigh…_

_Her gasp…_

_No_ , she had most certainly _not_ dreamed of him like that.

He heaved another sigh, trying to ignore the heat in his loins, and the distinct tenting of the bedsheet below his waist. At least this time he’d woken up before spilling his seed. He’d been less fortunate earlier this week.

Shame laced through him as his hand travelled below the blanket, palming his length, teasing the flesh. Soft and slow, tentative—like how he imagined she’d do it. His eyes flickered shut, and he exhaled, losing himself in the slow rhythm, the build up of pleasure.

Keep it slow.

She would go slow.

She would tease. She would entice. She would watch and wait, getting bolder, working him at her own pace.

That was Anna.

He let his thumb drift over the tip.

She wouldn’t take instruction from him. She’d just do what she wanted to him anyway, and he’d let her.

_God_ , he’d let her.

He’d—

His hand moved with a jerk. Gripping himself tighter, he quickened the pace. His palm rolling over the head, slicking up with precum. A soft moan escaped his lips.

She’d look up at him, straight in the eye. Those fjord blue eyes trained on his face, studying his expressions. And she’d read him. She’d know. She’d know exactly what he wanted.

He gasped, slowing his tempo on purpose. His hand trembling as he kept strict control.

She would be a tease. A minx. She’d know what he wanted and refuse him.

Make him want it more than he’d wanted anything.

She’d make him want _her_.

He grunted, his wrist moving faster. His grip tighter, squeezing his shaft harder and harder. Pumping his fist so fast now. So goddamned fast. His jaw clenched.

He wanted her. He wanted her. _Oh God_ , he _wanted_ her.

He—

His body went rigid at the same time his voice cried out in splendor. His desire splashed across his belly, soaking through his cotton nightshirt. The heat of the liquid made his body shiver in the night air.

Still panting, he stared up at the ceiling in defeat. If she was here, she’d rest her head against him, snuggle up close and whisper the kinds of things only lovers did in his ear.

This was hell.

Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, regret seeped in like a poison. The high fading, the satisfaction drifting away, replaced with remorse.

He shrugged out of his ruined nightshirt, like a snake shedding a skin. No point in getting a clean one, his room was too hot anyway.

Whatever tension his body held earlier had faded away.

She always did that to him.

He nestled back under his covers. Alone. Always alone.

Sleep calling his name.

* * *

 

Anna awoke with a start, not knowing if she had gasped out loud. She didn’t think she had. The form beside her was still fast asleep. But then he’d always been able to sleep anywhere and like the dead.

She frowned in dismay, her nightgown sticking uncomfortably to her body; clammy from the slick sheen of sweat covering her from head to toe.

_Not again_.

With a sigh, she sat up in her bed, heartbeat racing, careful not to disturb the man sleeping beside her. She rubbed her hands over her face, wishing _he_ would just go away.

Even in her sleep, _he_ still called to her.

Even with another man in her bed, she dreamed of _him_.

_Hans_.

How long would he continue to haunt her?

Moonlight bathed her room in a soft, pale glow. Slipping from the blankets, she grabbed the clock on her bedside table and made her way to the window seat across her room. Sitting down on the window seat with her legs drawn up, she nestled her bum back into the cushions. She squinted at the clockface, trying to read the hands on the clock in the moonlight.

Two in the morning.

With another sigh, she placed the clock up on the window sill. Staring out the window, she wondered if the moon was shining this bright in the Southern Isles, and if he was awake too. If he was staring out at the night sky. Had he awoken, heart pounding, drenched in sweat from a dream about her?

When she was a little girl, her mother once told her that if she saw someone she knew in her dreams, it meant that person was dreaming of her too. At the exact same time. Her mother had never said if it was the same dream though.

Anna’s face flushed, recalling bits of the dream.

_Her teeth gently nipping his bottom lip before drawing his mouth into a kiss…_

_His hands tugging at the silk of his cravat; nimble, long fingers working the knot undone…_

_Her hand drifting ever so softly up his thigh, grazing her open palm over his groin…_

_His gasp…_

_No_ , he had most certainly _not_ dreamed of her like that.

And what was wrong with her that she could dream of him like that? Especially when she had a perfectly nice man already in her bed?

She heaved another sigh, trying to ignore the heat in her loins, and the distinct slick wetness between her thighs that her dream had left behind. She almost cursed aloud for waking up before she’d had her release. Waking up satisfied from a dream was better than waking up discouraged and aroused.

She glanced over at Kristoff still fast asleep in her bed. His large back facing her as he breathed deeply and soundly. She could wake him up, have him fumble around and try to satisfy her with his too wet kisses and mechanical thrusting, or…

She could finish what her dream lover had already started.

_Hans_.

Shame laced through her as she slid her pelvis forward, her hands beginning to bunch her nightgown around her waist, her thighs parting to allow her dominant hand to creep in between the gaping opening of her drawers. Pretending it was Hans’s hand and not her own, she dipped her index finger between her wet folds; the slick warmth coating her finger as she slowly worked it over her slit in a slow, teasing motion.

Soft and slow, but with direction—like how she imagined he’d do it. Her eyes flickered shut, and she exhaled, losing herself in the slow rhythm, the build up of pleasure.

Keep it slow.

He would go slow. So unbearably slow. He’d know restraint, control.

He would tease. He would entice. He would bide his time, making the most of every single second, focusing it all on her, on her pleasure.

That was Hans.

No instruction from her. He’d just do what he wanted to with her anyway, and she’d let him.

_God_ , she’d let him.

She’d—

Her hand moved to tease her opening; so wet right now, so ready. Her finger slipped in with ease. Her wrist slowly pumping her finger in and out, dragging it along that hidden little nub that crowned her womanhood, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through her. _Oh_ , he would know all about that erect, little bud, and he’d know exactly how she loved to have it touched.

And he’d look up at her, straight in the eye while doing it too. Those field green eyes trained on her face, that knowing smirk spread across his lips as he’d read her like a book. He’d know.

She gasped, speeding up her tempo on purpose, and adding another finger, stretching herself wider. And another, God, he’d be big, so big—

He’d be a pleaser. A devil. He’d know exactly what she wanted and he’d give it to her.

_God_ , would he ever give it to her.

Make her want him more than she’d wanted anybody.

He’d make her want _him_.

She whimpered quietly in delight, her hand moving faster and harder. Her other hand joining the fray and focusing on her clit while her dominant fingers worked her hole into bliss. She tipped her head back, lips parted.

She wanted him. She wanted him. _Oh God_ , she _wanted_ him.

She—

Her body arched in ecstasy, waves of pleasure consuming her. She jerked her head towards the window, staring out at the moon, biting her bottom lip to stave off her cries of release. Quiet, oh so quiet. Mustn’t wake Kristoff. Not while she was getting off to the fantasy of another man.

When the waves of pleasure finally ebbed, she was still panting hard. God, it had been a good one, so much better than anything she’d done actually coupling with Kristoff.

This was hell.

She leaned her head back to rest against the wall, feeling guilty. She shouldn’t be doing that to fantasies of Hans. Not when Kristoff was right there, in the flesh.

But she couldn’t help herself.

She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow; the high fading, the satisfaction drifting away. Her drawers soaked in her sweat and juices. She slipped off her drawers before sneaking to her wardrobe to grab a fresh pair; changing into a new nightgown as well.

Once dressed, she went to the washbasin, scrubbing her fingers clean with soap, trying to erase the memory of Hans. Not that it mattered.

Kristoff wouldn’t notice anyway. He never did.

Whatever tension she’d held earlier had left. A quick fantasy of Hans, and it was like magic. She knew she’d do this again and again. Until she stopped dreaming of _him_.

She nestled back under her covers, careful not to disturb Kristoff.

Sleep calling her name.


End file.
